


RSVP

by Pfefferminze



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Angst and Humor, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, disregarding the Epilogue please and thank you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:09:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21566653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pfefferminze/pseuds/Pfefferminze
Summary: Voldemort must be laughing in hell at this. Hero of wars and it is the simple monotony of growing pains that gets Harry Potter.  Life gets him good and throws him a curveball. But eventually, he catches it like the pro Quidditch player he is.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	RSVP

**Author's Note:**

> Wee Christmas gift for my friend Roxi. Hope you guys can enjoy it too.

The dramatic violin melody gently pulled Harry into the reverie of the scene on the big screen in front of him. 

“First, there is desire. Then, passion.” 

He admired the well crafted choreography, his subconscious absentmindedly diving into the distant past of the brief attempt McGonagall had made at training the class for the Yule ball in their fourth year. 

“Then suspicion. Jealousy. Anger. Betrayal. When love is for the highest bidder there is no trust. Without trust, there is no love. Jealousy will drive you maaaad. Roxanne.” 

The sudden anguished shout from that Argentinian character awoke something primal in him. He tensed, ready to react to a non-existing threat. A few deep breaths steadied his heart and his frayed nerves, but the magic of the movie was broken. He felt aware of his surrounding, a cheap muggle cinema in East London in 2001. Unfortunately, not Paris in 1901 anymore. Nor anywhere in his own memories of any place in 1998, at least. 

Next to him, Ginny seemed unaffected by his perturbation. He noticed the ungracious position she was sitting in, with both feet on the seat and knees wide apart. It was such a stark contrast with her outfit, jeans, trainers and all; so appropriate for a Friday night date in the muggle world. It had become easy to disappear there for both of them. Yet, in moments like these, when the darkness of the room acted as an invisibility cloak, some small action of hers would let her real nature shine through, revealing her foreignness to this world. For a moment, he was tempted to take her hand. So lost in the story, she was biting her fingers as if the pain of the characters on the screen came from her own heart and she needed to let the blood flow out. In the end, he decided it was not worth disturbing the perfect picture of escapism she painted. There was plenty of action on the screen to keep him occupied too, so he returned to the story. 

The movie went on. He particularly appreciated the smart adaptation of songs famous enough that even an estranged muggleborn like him could recognise in the soundtrack. Well, the fact he was occupied thinking about the quality of the soundtrack said something about his interest for the plot itself. Still, as he expected, Ginny was completely transported by it until the end. The hand he held when they walked out was wet with her tears. She did not speak a word, assenting only with an almost imperceptible nod to his offer of a drink. He had randomly read the film’s review on a muggle newspaper in one of the boring moments at work and immediately had known that this epic tale of love would thrill his girlfriend. Which made sitting through two hours of a romantic movie -not necessarily his go to choice- worth it. However, when he returned to the table with the pints he promised to find her still silent and looking dejected, he started wondering if it had not been such a great idea. 

“Blimey Gin, did you like it? I thought Moulin Rouge was the perfect choice for you, but now you look so gutted that I’m thinking maybe Zoolander would have been better.” 

She finally raised her head, looking directly at him with frightening intensity. 

“Liked it? It’s the most exciting thing that has happened to me in… well… ages to be quite honest! Harry, the film is not the issue.” 

She started fidgeting, looking in every direction but his. He was left there like an idiot, one leg under the table, caught in the motion of sitting down and waiting for her to finish her piece. Finding an invisible sign on a faraway wall, the redhead sighed and uttered words that could as well have been a freezing Charm for all the shiver they sent down his spine. 

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.” 

Harry collapsed on the chair. He could not say for sure that he had experienced curses from Death Eaters which had hurt more than this. Mercilessly, she continued: 

“Listen Harry. I… I am not really sure how to say this? I love you dearly and in a way I think I always will. But… we are still so young and the only thing that has made me feel something in the past weeks, maybe months, is a bloody muggle film? You spend your time in training and I… I do too. Then we go back to the flat and the most social interaction we get is when we babysit Teddy or we go see my family at the Burrow. We are barely twenty and I am already so… bored.” 

“I had no idea you felt this way Gin.” 

She raised her eyebrows in a defeated expression. There was no rancor in her soft voice.

“I know you didn’t Harry. You are not the most observant of persons, and that’s alright.” 

That’s alright, she said. It gave him hope. Sure, she was unhappy, but there was something they could do, right? 

“Ok. We can change things, right? We can pick up new hobbies. You seem to like the muggle world. There is so much we can still discover.” He paused, brow furrowed in the strenuous attempt to find more ideas. “Or we can go to more Quidditch matches, visit Neville at Hogwarts…” Her hands tenderly clasped his and he stopped him in his tracks. She was now leaning so close he could smell the familiar citrusy aroma of her shampoo. 

“It’s not just that. Harry. I love you. I just don’t think I am in love with you anymore. I am so sorry. We have been through so much.” Her speech paused for a second to give space to a loud sniff. Tears were back on her face, dripping slowly in the mug beneath her. “We have been through so much and we thought it would last forever. It didn’t.”

Voldemort must be laughing in hell at this. Hero of wars and it was the simple monotony of growing pains that got him. She let go of his hands and abruptly stood up. 

“I can’t return to Grimmauld Place tonight. I’ll go to mum and dad’s for a while. I will come to collect my things at some point. I am sorry Harry. I really did love you.” 

Without saying anything more or giving him the time to register what had happened, the girl quickly disappeared in the crowd leaving one of the screen rooms. The one that had just finished showing Zoolander. He really should have gone for that bloody comedy. 

What. The. Hell. 

He was, quite frankly, gobsmacked. There were probably a myriad of other emotions swimming under the crystalline surface, but all he could see then was his own shocked reflection staring at him from each side of the pint glass. He had no idea of where he was going, the fire in the pit of his stomach just made it clear he had to leave this cursed place. 

A chilly autumnal wind hit him as soon as he stepped on the street. Summer had still permeated the air when they walked into the cinema, the cement of the city keeping the temperature warmer than it ever could be in Scotland. Still, England was just as treacherous, for the sun had since disappeared behind a summer storm. Of course it was raining, what else? What an apt cliché. Angry at the entire world, Harry just strolled aimlessly down a side road, unable to stand the multitude of people unaware of his mood that was filling Mile End. In normal circumstances, he would have taken advantage of the privacy that route afforded him to cast a charm against the rain. Today, he could barely control his legs to align step after step, all his energy used up by the private showing of the movie “How Harry Potter’s life went so wrong while he didn’t even notice”. 

Work. He did spend a lot of time training. Or did he really? Sometimes it felt like the Academy wanted to parade him more than they wanted to train him. Harry Potter, the multi-decorated hero, saviour of the Wizarding World, is training to become an auror. See, the Minister is doing well if he still wants to be part of it. It frustrated him to no end. Then again, so did she. Professional Quidditch required a lot more effort than student competitions ever did at Hogwarts. It wasn’t really a surprise that they were always tired when they arrived home. 

Home. That was another thorny issue. It had seemed so natural to move into Grimmauld Place at the end of the war. It was his and he could feel close to all the people he had lost. Perhaps the fleeting impressions of Remus reading in the library or Sirius joking in front of the fireplace were more ghosts than comforting presences. And the effort it took to keep the place habitable was so intense, sometimes it felt as if he advanced his spellcraft more at home than at the Academy. Still, that was what he had left of his family.

Family. Every Weasley gathering was such a joyous occasion for him, he did not think of much else. What could be better than spending his Sundays eating Molly’s delicious food and playing chess with Ron? Merlin’s beard, it was her family! Why did she find it so boring? Merlin’s beard. It was her family. The chilling realisation made him feel as if the pavement had cracked and an abyss had opened under his feet. Ah no, he just hadn’t realised he was about to walk...well more correctly fall into one of the entrances to the Bethnal Green Tube station.

Although hiding in the dark embrace of the underground sounded like an appealing prospect, he still had a flicker of sense to comprehend it wasn’t the best course. This bout of common sense also extended to the notion that, unless he fancied having half of his body at Grimmauld Place, half at the Burrow and perhaps a hand in Ireland, he should probably steer clear of apparition too. The rain was growing tiring though, he could feel that even his boxers were getting wet. He stood there, pondering on this conundrum, until he noticed the safe and warm light of a pub greeting him from across the street. To better pursue his interest in making stuff explode, after Hogwarts, Seamus Finnigan had decided he wanted to cover all of his basis and had enrolled in a muggle university to study chemistry. His friend had confessed to Harry that the most useful piece of knowledge he had obtained from his education was that alcohol is, both technically and metaphorically, a solution. When he first heard of it, coming from an Irish lad carrying as many pints as his hands could support, Harry had thought of it as nothing more than an overused joke. Now, it was bloody well worth a try. 

He crossed the street and walked into the pub. There were quite a few elderly men sitting around the l-shaped counter, but it was surprisingly empty for a Friday night. Once the middle-aged barmaid served him the beer he asked for, it became clear why. The watery drink he was handed could barely fit the definition of alcoholic beverage. Despite his disappointment, it felt rude and unnecessary to leave at that point. A lonely seat at the end of the longer side of the counter seemed like a place as good as any to drown his obsessive thoughts in the pale liquid. 

A few glasses later, all he had drank suddenly and violently started demanding to be released. He stumbled his way to the other end of the room, the urgency clouding his senses to anything else in his surrounding other than the coveted door with the stickman sign on it. A renewed man, he emerged from the gents to find a most remarkable scene. 

“Pay up or I will not serve you no more.” 

On his right, on the shorter side of the counter in a space hidden from his previous viewpoint, the barmaid was battling a peculiar customer. Even though the young man was showing his back to Harry, he was unmistakable. Sure, the hair was more disheveled than usual and the posh accent disturbed by the drinks, but.... who else had that specific shade of platinum and that unique way to blend petulance and entitlement in his speech? The woman turned to Harry, rudely asking what he was looking at. The difficult customer did the same, almost slipping off the stool in the process. 

“Potter!” was all that a very drunk Draco Malfoy managed to shout. However, if his unexpected appearance had surprised his old acquaintance, he proved to be quite capable of bouncing back from it. In less than a second Harry saw the man’s face transformed by a devious smile and the plan he hatched became clear as soon as he spoke. 

“Ma’am, this is my good friend from shchool. I was starting to fear he had stood me up! Pour us a drink each and let us be. Tab is on him.” 

The woman did not seem impressed but made no move to question his words. Harry had been diligent with his payments and she was in no position to judge where her money came from, as long as it made its way into her till by the end of the night. Malfoy grabbed the two glasses and signalled to follow him to a more private booth. Sitting on the old leather settee in his black wizard robes, the blonde seemed a fraction less out of place than he did perched on a barstool. It was still one of the most outlandish sights that Harry had ever faced in his entire life. 

“For once Potter, I can say I am displeased by seeing your face. No. Wait. I am usually displeased. Not today. I guess you have enough muggle money to pay for this, right? Cheers!” 

Harry grabbed his glass just in time to counter the well intentioned hit from the other side of the table. Quite a lot spilled from both mugs onto the table, yet luckily not on his clothes. Was he really toasting with Malfoy or had he passed out in the toilet and this was his mind toying with him? 

“Ah, this stuff is disgusting.” Malfoy crassly stated laying his pint down. “ Is all muggle stuff as bad as this? Nah, the pub next door does have some good whiskey, but they don’t let me in naymore. Eh, it does the job.” To confirm his point, he gobbled the rest of his drink. 

“What are you doing here, Potter? I thought you spent your nights in bed with at least a handful of Weasleys to keep them warm.” Malfoy attempted to wink and ended up looking like the absolute moron he was. 

“Where I sleep is none of your matter, Malfoy. “ Harry retorted testily. “I could ask the same. I thought your kind could not bear to walk among the filthy muggles.” 

The blond made a theatrical gesture pointing at the room around them. 

“You don’t mean to say they are not filthy, do you? Look around. Nononono Potter, you are right. I can barely stand it. The drinks have a pisspoor taste, they look at me weirdly and they disgust me. But…” he wiggled his right index finger dangerously close to Harry’s nose. 

“Riddle me this Potty, why are you here drinking alone...wait you are alone right?”. He stopped for a second to look around. “Yeah, no Knowitall nor King Weasley with you tonight, eh? Where did you leave that wild cat of your girlfriend?”

At the mention of Ginny, Harry saw red and instinctively kicked Malfoy under the table. The other man nursed his injured shin, asserting there was no need for violence. 

“Get to the point.”

“Alright alright. My, aren’t you touchy touchy tonight. I was saying, riddle me this. Why are you here and not, let’s say… at the Leaky Cauldron, for your alcoholic escapade?”

Well, he had come to this specific place because it was just what he had found in his erratic walking around London. Yet, just the suggestion of doing the same thing in a Wizarding establishment made him feel queasy. He could imagine all sorts of headlines in the Daily Prophet analysing his reaction, pontificating on his break up and invading what little privacy he still had for weeks to come. Something else to worry about later. No need or use in doing it at this particular moment. No one knew who he was in that corner of the muggle world. 

“I guess I haven’t read on the Daily Prophet that Draco Malfoy has turned into an alcoholic yet.” 

“Exactly, my non-friend.” The blonde nodded by himself for a moment, before continuing: 

“Precisely because I decide to lower myself to frequent these inferior rattraps, you never will. Then again, I suppose you are here for the same reason. But why, oh why, the saviour of us all needs to be here drinking alone, that I still don’t get.” 

Why was he sitting there listening to all this crap from Malfoy, MALFOY, of all people? That was a better question. The ferret was relentless. He requested another pint for both of them, even though Harry had still not finished his, and resumed his attack.

“Come oooon. I am feeling magnanimous. Since you Gryffindor honour will pay for my drinks tonight, I will be your shoulder to cry on for this limited time only. Did you have a fight with the infernal she-Weasel? Did she kick you out? Have they rescinded your honorary membership to the Hand-me-Down tribe?” 

Harry refused to reply; his silence and lowered gaze provided all the answers needed. 

“She did, didn’t she?” Malfoy’s voice carried the same excitement as a child who has just been promised a new broom for his birthday. He straightened his back against the couch, his shoulders shaking with laughter. 

“Go to hell Malfoy.” Harry wanted to insult the fool, but his words carried no bite. He was too tired and unsettled by the other man’s words. 

“Now now, no need to be rude. I will give it to you, having a woman leave you is an extremely valid reason to get sloshed. But, cheer up! Tomorrow morning you will wake up and everybody will still love you as the hero of our times. Non female Weasleys included. ” 

That was perhaps true and it still did not help a bit. 

“Besides, it could be worse!” 

“How, how could it be worse?” Harry spat out, stupefied by Malfoy’s ability to both strike him where it hurt the most and be so clueless at the same time. 

Malfoy leaned in closer and lowered his voice, whispering conspiratorially. 

“Weasley left you, so at least you don’t have to marry her!” 

Harry thought of the velvet box hidden in his study back at Grimmauld Place. Before he could come up with a coherent way to express his vehement disagreement with Malfoy’s nonsense, the barmaid came to demand the bill so she could finally kick them out. Out of pure chance, he had just paid his monthly visit to Gringott’s to exchange galleons for pounds. He still had to empty his wallet in the hands of the woman, while a smug Malfoy observed. 

“Bloody hell Malfoy, what did you drink to rack up a 200£ tab?” Harry asked dumbstruck while they were leaving the pub. 

Malfoy waved his hand as if Harry’s question was a fly bothering him. 

“Oh, some drinks here and there. I must have come here last night too. Or some other night before. Yes, that might explain why she got so antsy with the bill. Woman of little faith. A Malfoy always pays his debts. Most of the time.” 

Apart from the random car, the streets in front of them were empty. Malfoy crossed with no care for his safety and ventured into Bethnal Green park. Harry stood petrified in the same spot, trying to conjure a way to make it back to Grimmauld place in his current state with an empty wallet. 

“Oy Gryffindumb, are you coming or what?”

Malfoy’s white head was peaking out of the dark park. Against his better judgement, Harry decided to follow him and promptly regretted his choice when a loud pop coming from behind the shrubbery scared the bejesus out of him.

“Tanny is here to serve master.” a small house elf solemnly declared. 

Malfoy acknowledged the elf, but found it difficult to stand straight. He bumbled around for a moment, until he identified a bench to sprawl his long lanky limbs on. Laboriously, he mustered enough authority to issue a command and passed out soon after. Before Harry could understand what was going on, the elf had grabbed his wrist and apparated both of them in the foyer of Grimmauld Place. 

“Tonight was absurd.” he proclaimed for the benefit of the dark empty house and made his way into bed.  
*******************************************************************************************************************************

Draco woke up. A ray of light had crawled on his face until it reached his eyes, disturbing his fitful sleep. He patted the surface underneath him, trying to understand where he was. The silky material was familiar. He dared peeking through one eye. Yes, that was the couch in his study. He let out a sigh he didn’t know he was holding. 

“Tanny!”

The elf appeared immediately, carrying a tray with the worst smelling potion he desired like nothing else in the world. The hangover was so severe not even this fortified draught could make it disappear completely. More work was needed on the formula. If nothing else, his head went from feeling like a completely smashed coconut to a mildly cracked one. 

“Well done Tanny.” He got up, stretching his sore muscles. “Let’s aim for the bed next time, though... I can’t continue sleeping in this cramped position.” 

The creature’s smile disappeared at his second remark and she vanished, probably to bang her head into some wall shameful of her behaviour. What could he do about it, the house elves loved to punish themselves, who was he to stop them from doing something they so clearly enjoyed?

Flashes from the previous evening started exploding in his head as the potion cleared the fog left behind by the alcohol. He began trying to piece them together, when a deep voice from the wall behind him started chastising him. 

“Don’t you think you have made enough of a fool of yourself?” 

“Just because I let your portrait hang here instead of hiding it in an attic, it doesn’t mean I want to hear your opinion about my life, Severus.” 

Eerily similar to what he had been capable of in life, the man in the painting raised a single eyebrow and that was enough to make Draco feel like an idiot. 

“I take it you have had at least the common sense to keep to your muggle circles.” 

“Yes,” he mumbled sheepishly. “Although... last night, it didn’t really work. You will never guess whom I had the displeasure to meet.” 

Draco left the comment hanging in there for a moment, attempting to play a game of cat and mouse. It did not work on Snape because, first of all, he was a painting, and secondly, he was Snape. The younger man truly wished to tell the tale, so he gave in and exclaimed triumphantly:

“Potter!” 

The - pun intended- magical word worked wonders. If anything was enough to awake forceful emotions in the portrait of that specific dead man, it would be a mention of Harry Potter. The other eyebrow shot up to join its fellow in the higher region of Snape’s forehead and in a mellifluous voice he responded:

“Really. Please, do tell.”


End file.
